


Serious

by Mercury Starlight (WoolandWater)



Series: The Young Ones - Love & Mobsters [17]
Category: The Young Ones (TV 1982)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Beating, Explicit Language, Guilt, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, PTSD, Serious Injuries, Torture, character abuse, reader abuse, temporary regression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-12 16:20:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2116566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoolandWater/pseuds/Mercury%20Starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timeline: Late October/Early November 1986</p><p> <em>You're lucky you didn't mouth off to the wrong sort or I'd have been scraping you off the pavement.</em> - Vyvyan Basterd</p><p>...Rick mouths off to the wrong sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been author-edited for typos and grammar, but has NOT been beta'd!

The punch to the stomach had hurt. It had, however, hurt far less than the way the sole of the skinhead's boot was currently digging into his back like a steel-toed knife. He could feel the scrape growing slowly into a tear with the crouching thug's every movement. The skinhead was crouched so as to better punch him in the face. The other two, alternately holding him down and kicking him themselves, were laughing again, but the puncher was too angry to laugh.

*****

It was such a beautiful day, and Rick was in a spectacular mood. He was coming home, having dropped off a package in the post, on an errand for Mike, and he was glad the rain had stopped that morning. The sun shone warmly and the pavement was already drying up.

He rounded the corner and his smile faltered. Between him and home was a small clutch of skins loitering about. On any other day, he might have simply crossed the street to avoid them and continued on. But this wasn't any other day. Today, he was feeling adventurous. He was a punk after all, and an anarchist, and a mobster, and a Morrissey fan – hell, forget adventure, he was feeling righteous! How dare those thugs pollute his street? This was his bloody neighborhood, this was The Business' bloody neighborhood, and he had a duty to protect it from the likes of them.

He approached them, completely ignoring that the smallest of the three was at least half a foot taller than him.

"Hey you skins! Get off our street! Go peddle your fascist hatred elsewhere, you're not wanted here!"

They stared at him in amused confusion.

"You heard me, clear off! This is our bloody turf!"

The biggest one stepped forward, and Rick foolishly ignored his instinct to back away.

"Whose turf would that be, then?"

"Mike's, obviously. This whole street is Mike's!"

"Oh, is it now," he said, his eyes flaring. Anyone with the slightest bit of sense would have seen the look in his eye and fled home, hoping to hell he didn't notice which house they dove into. Rick stood his ground, even as the three surrounded him.

"Lads, did you hear?" the biggest one stared Rick down as he spoke and the other two watched him, clearly awaiting commands, "This street belongs to Mike! Well, sounds like someone's been misinformed."

He cracked his neck, his grin unhinged and dangerous.

"Pretty sure every street belongs to Max."

*****

He hadn't expected this strong a reaction, but he'd later wonder what he _had_ expected, goading them on the way he did. He'd had the opportunity to pass them by, but he'd approached them anyway, and look what happened.

He was sure his nose was broken. He'd got to the point where he couldn't really taste the blood anymore – he'd acclimated to it, pouring down his face, into his mouth, down the back of his throat. He'd bit his tongue at some point, and now it was bleeding too. He was trying to shield himself, but the one by his arms kept holding them away and he was losing feeling in the right side of his head. The world was going a bit cloudy and there was a loud ringing in his ear.

He shouldn't have spat at the big one, he considered far too late. He heard himself shriek an apology, then another, and another until it was just a noise mingled with the laughter and the sounds of punches and the grunting of the angry one.

"Oi!" a voice he had never been gladder to hear called from the alleyway, "The fuck do you think you're doing?"

'Thank god,' he thought, 'Vyv.'

*****

It was only by chance Vyvyan was walking home at all. He usually drove everywhere now that he could afford petrol, but the past few days had been choked with rain and the afternoon was graced with such bright blue sky, huge, friendly clouds and warm sun, he couldn't help but walk to the off-license. As he passed the last alleyway before home, he slowed, hearing the familiar sounds of a beating. He stopped to listen and enjoy, but when the victim started screaming his smile vanished.

Somebody had Rick, and from the sound of it he was in real trouble.

'Damn it, poof, what did you do now?'

He ran until the ally opened into a wide clearing and the scene came into view. Then he stopped short.

"Fuck," he muttered, and hung back in the shadows, backing against the wall and hoping to god they hadn't seen him.

Three of the largest, most intimidating skins he'd ever seen had Rick pinned and crying, cornered in a dead-end alley, and the one in the middle (the biggest by far) looked furious, even in profile. Vyvyan recognized the huge, furious one, he'd crossed paths with him before, years ago, and he scared the shit out of him - he'd hoped he'd never have the misfortune of seeing him ever again.

He was much older than them; he'd been somewhere in his late thirties when Vyvyan knew him nearly a decade ago. No one knew his real name, but somewhere along the way he had acquired 'Mad Max', most likely after his apparent desire to create an apocalyptic future and his insistence on behaving as though he were already living in one. He was vicious, a true sadist with a nasty temper who enjoyed prolonging the suffering of others and was always willing to go too far. Vyvyan knew he was not to be trifled with. Anyone with a working knowledge of the streets knew to avoid this man, and anyone with sense would come to the same conclusion upon seeing him and the insanity in his eyes, not to mention the ragged swastika carved into his forehead. He had killed before, with his bare hands, no less, and would do again; his victims often wished for death long before he granted it to them.

That Vyvyan had come upon the scene when he did was lucky; much later and Max's favorite 'toys' would have been out. For his part, other than a pair of brass knuckles he kept on him at all times, Vyvyan was unarmed. The other two were beating the hell out of Rick right alongside Max, and he had to do something quick. But they were _so much bigger_ than him - this was going to be a tough fight, if it was going to be a fight at all. There was a good chance - from the looks of it, a _very_ good chance - that each of them was stronger than him, individually. He wasn't even sure he could take Max alone, if it came down to it. But three at once?

"Fuck," he said again, "Right." He took a deep breath and steeled himself. He equipped his only weapon. He prepared for things to go wrong. Then he balled up his fists.

"Oi!" the rain of punches stopped for a moment so its owners could locate the origin of the noise, "The fuck do you think you're doing?"

*****

"Fuck, fuck, where is it?"

Rick rifled through his closet, flinging shoes, shirts, old magazines and general garbage behind him, growing increasingly frantic.

"Come on, come on," he muttered urgently. His face throbbed and the vision in his good eye was blurry and faint. His head swam, and he found himself struggling to keep his good eye open, even with the adrenaline surging through his body. His window was open and for a moment he thought he could hear laughter, out behind the garden. It didn't sound like good laughter at all.

'Hold on, just hold on, I'll find it.'

*****

It all happened so fast. Things improved somewhat, at first, after Vyv got there. The beating stopped as the leader looked up to judge the severity of the threat. The other two waited nervously, watching his lead, but they didn't let go. This changed, however, when Vyvyan walked right up to them and kicked the still-kneeling leader in the face.

The cronies lunged at Vyvyan as their leader reeled, and Rick took the opportunity to get up, despite his body's protests. He tried to take in the scene around him while the world stopped spinning. Vyvyan was fighting the two lesser skins valiantly, dodging punches and throwing his own, but it looked like they were already getting the upper hand - every punch Vyvyan threw looked mild and ineffective once they made contact, which was probably one of the more frightening things Rick had ever seen. The leader stood up, spitting out blood and at least one tooth. He grinned, seemingly happy to find a new target. He reached into his jacket.

"Run!" Vyvyan called to Rick, dodging another punch. Rick's head swam and he felt frozen to the spot. He heard the click of a switchblade. He saw Vyvyan's eyes go wide and realized it was the first time he'd ever seen true terror on Vyvyan's face.

"This isn't a fucking joke, Rick," he screamed, struggling against his foes' attempt to wrestle him to the ground, "Go! Now!"

Rick ran. He ran blindly at first, in the blur of familiar terror and cowardice combined with the swelling of his right eye and the almost certain concussion. At one point he stumbled over his own feet and nearly fell. But as he got closer to home, he gained purpose and speed. When he got through the front door, he met Neil in the hallway.

"Wow, Rick," Neil said as Rick passed him by, "What happened to you?"

"No time!" Rick yelled as he headed for the stairs, then thought better of it and turned back. He caught Neil by the shoulders and looked him in the eye as best he could.

"Skins! With knives, in the alley behind the garden! Huge! Three against one! Vyvyan! Call an ambulance! Call the pigs! Call _somebody_! No time, I've got to find it!" he released Neil and rushed up the stairs, " _Help him_! Vyvyan's in the alley!"

Neil frowned, glanced up the stairs, headed for the phone and started dialing.

*****

"Ah!" Rick's hand brushed the wooden box, "Finally!" He grabbed it and headed back downstairs, passing Neil trying to explain the location of the alleyway to the operator.

It might not go wrong after all.

*****

It had gone wrong. Almost immediately after Rick was out of sight, the two thugs got the better of Vyvyan. He thought they might. One of them managed to get his arms locked, and the other wasted no time punching him in the face, the stomach, the chest. He felt one of his ribs break at one of the harder punches. He was glad Rick wasn't there to see this, or to see what was coming. His mouth went dry. The thugs pinned him to the wall for Max to do as he liked. Max advanced slowly, tracing his thumb across the edge of his knife and grinning wildly. Vyvyan held his head high and watched Max's eyes defiantly, hoping to hell he managed to show as little weakness as possible. Max had a tendency to punish weakness.

"I know you."

Fuck. Vyvyan was hoping he wouldn't.

"Hallo, Max," Vyvyan said, casual and stone-faced, "Fancy kicking you here."

"Hair's a bit longer - and quite a bit brighter - but I definitely know you. It must be five or six years now?" Max hung back, enjoying a bit of conversation before the fun part.

Vyvyan shook his head, "Longer, you've been a nazi fuckhead at least eight or nine."

Max smiled, patronizing, patient. "Ah, the bleeding heart, I remember now. You didn't run for me long." He paced in front of him and tapped the flat of the blade against his lips, casual, calm, "As I recall, the last time we met I allowed you to live after you made some unflattering remarks and threw a punch at me."

"Did I? Well, I expect I had a good reason. Perhaps your mum gave me clap."

"I remember you had a mouth on you, you ugly, orange-headed fuck. Never thought you'd have the stones to kick me in the fucking face!"

Suddenly Max was very close indeed, and the fine point of his knife hovered millimeters from Vyvyan's jaw. He stank, and Vyvyan wanted nothing better than to dodge it, but he kept eye contact. He'd seen that look in Max's eyes once before, and though Vyvyan was currently alive and breathing, he knew he was already dead. He wasn't going down without a fight, and if he could help it, he wouldn't give Max the satisfaction of his pain. Max drew the knife's edge slowly and carefully along Vyvyan's jaw-line and very deliberately nicked him just below the ear. Vyvyan didn't flinch, didn't even let his breath quicken. In and out. Calm. Steel. Max laughed softly and withdrew. He paced in front of him again, a predator toying with its prey before dinner.

"Was it worth it, then? That prissy fucker's life for yours? He family or something?"

"Something like that," Vyvyan said coolly, maintaining his stare.

There was a pause, then Max threw back his head and barked a laugh in disbelief. "You're fucking him," he said matter-of-factly, shaking his head and laughing still, "Fairies in the thug ranks, that's a new one. Disgusting. It's a good thing you've come to me, lad, I'll have you cured of that perversion in no time."

"Fuck off, Max," Vyvyan said just as calmly, trying not to imagine what Max could have in mind, "You'd know, wouldn't you?"

Max rushed him again, and he wasn't smiling, "Watch it sonny boy," he said, his rancid breath hot on Vyvyan's face, "Speaking out of turn. You forget where you are? Manners, lad. I'll have an apology."

Vyvyan spat in his face.

Max grabbed hold of one of Vyvyan's stars and ripped it out.

Vyvyan actually felt the skin rip away from his forehead, like a swatch of fabric, tearing around the barbell. He doubled over as much as the henchmen at his arms would allow, and although he tried desperately to bite back a scream, some whimpers escaped. Pain radiated down his face. Blood dripped into his eyes. Max leaned forward and spoke into Vyvyan's ear, smiling gently.

"Valiant attempt, son. Admirable. But you'll scream for me sooner or later."

*****

Max watched the beating with a small, satisfied smile on his face. He put his knife away; it had served its purpose, for now. This was one of his favorite parts – watching his crew tenderize the meat before his debut. Preparation for playtime. He took out one of his favorite toys. He'd had it specially made, something like a corkscrew with a sharpened edge – the barb at the end was his favorite feature. He played with it – turning it over in his hands as he watched the beating progress.

*BANG*

The gunshot surprised everyone. Max's attention whirled back toward the mouth of the alley and for the second time, everything froze.

"Get away from him!"

*****

He'd got the magazine into the gun all right, and he thought he could probably fire it if he had to, but he hoped it would only be a persuasion tool. When he rounded the corner, he stopped thinking and things seemed to slow down and speed up at once.

Vyvyan was on the ground, he seemed to have taken a defensive pose and beyond that, it was hard to tell if he was all right. The thugs were stomping him while the leader watched – he had what could only be a torture implement in his hand. Rick went numb.

'No. Not my Vyv.'

Someone else, a stranger emerging from inside him, fired into the air.

"Get away from him!" the stranger used his voice, spoke with more authority than he'd ever felt in his little finger. He could barely hear himself. Distantly, he felt his heart pound out of his chest and his head try to throb itself off his shoulders. He refused to let his hands shake, and tried to help the stranger steady them. He pointed the gun at the group of thugs.

The skinheads stared at him blankly for a long moment, then burst into simultaneous laughter. Rick held his ground.

"Put it down, little boy," the leader said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, "You don't know what you're doing!" They laughed louder.

"You're right!" Rick called over them, with a wild audacity and desperation that silenced them. He moved sidelong out of the shadows along the alley wall, facing them, until he was directly across from them, but far out of arm's reach – enough time to shoot one of them before they all got to him.

"I haven't got a fucking clue what I'm doing!"

He held the gun with both hands, put a finger on the trigger and aimed at their heads.

"Who wants to be the first to startle me into shooting them in the face?"

The henchmen watched the leader. The leader watched Rick. Rick centered his aim on the leader's head. In the far, far distance, but steadily nearing, an ambulance siren wailed. A police siren joined it, much closer – it would get there first.

"Leave him alone."

The leader's eye twitched, and he narrowed his eyes…then dropped his gaze.

They moved toward the exit and Rick replaced them, crossing the alley until he was standing between Vyvyan and the wary thugs. He never dropped his lock on them.

"Fuck off," he said gesturing out of the alley with the gun, "Go on, then. "

One of the henchmen started for Rick, but the leader held him back with his arm and a shake of his head.

"Come on, lads," he growled, "They're not worth it, the pair of them."

He stormed out of the alley, his two henchmen shuffling behind him. Rick didn't drop his arms until they were long out of sight. Then he tossed the gun into the alley with disgust and breathed for what felt like the first time in minutes. He became aware of his headache again, but the pain seemed far away, like he was watching it from a distance.

"Vyvyan?" He knelt to check on him and shook his shoulder, "Vyv, are you all right?"

"I can't believe you did that," Vyvyan said weakly as he tried, and failed, to push himself up against the wall without moving his left arm, "You should never have come back, you could have got yourself killed, you stupid, reckless bastard. How'd you _do_ that?"

Rick helped him and ended up sitting against the wall with him, arms around his shoulders.

"I don't know! I don't think I could do it again. It was the strangest thing- oh, Vyv, your head!"

"No, it's nothing," he shook his head, pulling his left arm closer to his body and leaning his head against the wall, "Never mind that, you have a gun."

"But-"

"Where'd you get a gun?"

"…Daddy gave it to me before I left for University. He was always a hunter and he thought I might enjoy taking it up on weekends. I detest hunting, of course, _and_ guns, so I just put it in the back of my closet and forgot about it-"

"Hunting?"

"Yes, he-"

"But it's a pistol."

Rick considered this. "Daddy always was a bit eccentric."

Vyvyan laughed weakly. Rick was oblivious to Vyvyan leaning further toward him, eventually resting his head on his shoulder. He just hugged him closer and kept talking about his favorite subject.

"I suppose he imagined I'd grow into some kind of rugged outdoorsman once I'd been out of the house for a while. Ha, imagine what he'd say about me now-"

"You mean to tell me…the whole time I've known you…you've had a gun?"

"Well, yes. As I said, daddy was-"

"Do you have _any_ idea…how useful a gun would have been in a…multitude of past scenarios?" Rick also missed the way each of Vyvyan's questions were getting fainter and seemed to take more effort.

"I'd forgotten about it! I'm actually surprised you never found it, you've rifled through my closet enough times. Ha! I just got that, rifle, hunting- Vyvyan, your shirt's half red."

"I know. He stabbed me."

"What?"

*****

"Valiant attempt, son. Admirable. But you'll scream for me sooner or later." Max leaned in further, "Perhaps sooner."

He moved as if to embrace him, and buried his knife to the hilt just below Vyvyan's left rib, withdrawing slowly and sighing as if savoring the moment. He did it again, twisting it as he withdrew. This sigh was definitely sexual. Once more, swiftly this time - a punch with a blade at the end. He chuckled softly to himself.

Vyvyan made a strangled noise and felt himself start to fall. The henchmen let him.

Max shrugged and turned his back. "Perhaps later. There's still time before you've bled out. Do as you like, lads, but leave some for me, eh?"

One of the henchmen kicked him, hard, and the other followed suit. Max turned and watched with a small, satisfied smile on his face. He put his knife away; it had served its purpose, for now.

*****

"A few times."

"What?!"

"I've been trying to keep…pressure on it with my arm, but I'm…losing strength."

He took his arm away and his vest shifted. Rick caught a full glimpse of the blood pooled and coagulating at his side and willed himself not to faint.

"I need you to put pressure on it. Now."

Vyvyan shifted to try to make the wound more accessible to Rick's hand. Rick finally noticed Vyvyan getting paler, rapidly. His eyes were glazed and he looked less than half conscious.

"What? How? What do I do?" Rick flailed his hands slightly.

"Calm down, it'll be all right. I've had worse. Just reach down to my side."

Rick did as he was told, with trepidation, moving the arm around Vyvyan's shoulder down to his side and hovering there, shakily.

"Now just bunch up the fabric around the wound…and press hard…with the palm of your hand."

"Won't that hurt?"

"Of course it will, but I'm bleeding out for fuck's sake. Do it. _Now_."

Rick pulled Vyvyan toward him with his hand over the wound, and Vyvyan hissed in pain. Rick felt his eyes well up and he started to let go.

"No! Don't let up," Vyvyan said quickly, his eyes screwed shut, "Keep hold of it, no matter what." Vyvyan opened his eyes and looked up at Rick. "Don't cry, poof," he offered a weak smirk.

Rick just held him closer and let the tears fall. "It'll be all right," he said to reassure himself, "You said so. You've had worse…"

Vyvyan shook his head, "I lied. I only said that to keep you from panicking. I don't know that it will be. I've lost a lot of blood already and I'm…pretty sure one of those last kicks broke a…couple more ribs. I could be bleeding internally…probably am. I'm going into shock…losing consciousness. Even if those…sirens are coming for us…I might die on the…way to hospital."

"Don't talk like that Vyvyan, it's not funny!"

"You're right…it's not," Vyvyan rested his head deeper into Rick's shoulder. His breathing grew fast and shallow and he put more of his weight on Rick.

"Vyv, you can't just- I have to tell you-"

"No, you don't," Vyvyan whispered a sigh, "Don't start that, I know."

"I love you, Vyvyan!" Rick melted into hysterical, nearly unintelligible tears, "You can't leave me, you can't!"

"Shhh, that's all right poof, that's all right," Vyvyan tried to comfort him as best he could, weakly stroking the back of his head.

"You can't leave me because I love you and you're all I've got left and you have to stay with me and love me back!"

Vyvyan leaned back a bit and looked Rick in the eye, his own eyes swimming in pain, even as he forced a smile. He brushed some tears off Rick's cheek with the back of his hand.

"You're such a girl," he whispered tenderly.

Rick heard what he actually meant, _really heard it_ , and even in the midst of everything he wondered how he ever could have missed it before. Vyvyan wrapped his hand around the back of Rick's neck, curled into his arms, and fell silent. The gravity of the situation, of everything that had just happened, came down on Rick all at once and a rush of hysteria blinded him. He wasn't sure what happened after that. Even after he remembered some of the rest of it, he never remembered the paramedics at all.

*****

When Neil heard the ambulance arrive, he thought it was probably safe to go see what Rick was talking about. He hoped that everyone was okay, but Rick's beat-up face and that gunshot a while back seemed to preclude that. There was chaos in the alley. Paramedics running about, police canvassing the area, he wondered how he was even going to find them when he heard it.

"No! No! No, no, no!"

That was Rick, and it didn't sound like he was okay at all. He sounded like a hysterical child. Neil pushed his way through the crowd to find a group of paramedics surrounding Rick, who was sitting against the wall clinging to a very pale, bloody, and unconscious Vyvyan.

'Oh man,' Neil thought, 'He's totally lost it.'

Rick's one good eye was wide with panic and his head darted wildly at the people surrounding him. It appeared they were trying to separate them so they could get to Vyvyan, but Rick was having none of it. He batted at them with the arm that wasn't holding Vyvyan's side. He kicked them away. When they pulled at him, he only clung harder.

"No, no, no, no!"

Somebody put a hand on Neil's shoulder as if trying to lead him away.

"I'm sorry sir, this area is restricted."

"It's okay," he waved whoever it was away, unable to take his eyes off the scene before him, "It's okay, I know them. I think I can help."

He knelt to Rick's level and tried to catch his eye.

"Hey Rick."

Rick's head stopped darting at the sound of his name, but his face still swam in confusion. He looked in Neil's direction, but through him.

"It's me, Rick, it's Neil."

Rick whimpered.

"I know you're worried about Vyvyan, but you have to come away from him now. These people want to help him, they can't do that unless you let go."

"No," Rick said weakly and shook his head, "Vyv said no."

"Come on Rick, it'll be all right, I promise. He won't mind. Just take my hand." He reached out, and Rick stared at his hand as though it were a foreign entity. "Come on Rick, just take it."

Rick hesitated, then took Neil's hand cautiously, as if he wasn't sure it was actually there. Neil pulled, and to his surprise, Rick went with him easily. He let go and paramedics descended on Vyvyan immediately. Rick seemed to change his mind and tried to dive for him again, but it was too late. Neil caught him by the waist and held him back.

"Stop it, man, let him be."

Rick reached for him a while longer before throwing himself into Neil's chest and bawling. A medic approached them and tried to inspect him. He practically leapt out of the medic's reach, clinging to Neil more tightly and watching the medic with fear. Neil took hold of his hand again, and he managed to calm down enough to let the medic do his job.

"What's your name?" The medic said, shining a light into Rick's good eye. Rick winced at the light.

"…Rick…" Rick seemed unsure of the answer, and he still sounded like a frightened child. Even his speech impediment was worse. The medic glanced at Neil for confirmation, and Neil nodded.

"Can you tell me what year it is, Rick?"

Rick frowned and said nothing. Eventually he shook his head.

"How do you feel? Do you feel ill? Feel like you'd like to go to sleep?"

Rick shook his head, then paused, then nodded.

"Can you tell me what happened to you, Rick?"

Rick only stared at him, confused.

"How about the last thing you remember, can you tell me that?"

"…I don't know…" he looked around helplessly, seemingly frightened of his own answer. The medic looked at Neil.

"I take it this isn't his typical pattern of behavior."

"No," Neil said, "I've never seen him like this."

"Well, we're looking at a moderate concussion here at the very least, I'd say more likely a severe one. Frankly, if it were only him I'd take him now, but we're going to need to focus on the other one if we're going to keep him alive. As it is, given that he's conscious and talking, I wouldn't say he needs further medical attention just yet, but you'll want to get him home and resting as soon as possible. He should improve with bed rest. It's all right to let him sleep, but wake him up every once in a while and ask him the same questions I asked, see if he can answer better or if he sounds more like himself. If he starts vomiting or his headache gets worse, or obviously if you can't wake him, get him to hospital immediately. There's a chance he'll continue to have memory trouble for quite a while - that's normal, but if it worsens, bring him in."

Neil nodded at this hurried string of instructions and the medic rushed off to help the others. Neil tried to get Rick to walk, but Rick didn't seem to have the balance. Neil knew he wasn't nearly strong enough to carry him, so he looked around for a few moments, frustrated, before deciding to try and get Rick to sit down. He managed it, and tried to stand up again. Rick immediately grabbed hold of him.

"No!"

Neil sat down beside him. It was probably better not to leave him alone anyway. Rick lay his head on Neil's shoulder and clung to him, fading in and out of consciousness. Neil leaned his own head against the wall and watched, bewildered, as pigs canvassed the area and the medics fought to keep Vyvyan alive.

*****

Mike was on his way home from a bit of business when he saw the ambulance. It looked like the fuzz had come and gone, and they were getting close to loading a stretcher into the back. He would have kept on walking (no need to crawl inside somebody else's bag of dirty washing) had he not caught a glimpse of familiar orange as he passed.

He approached – it was Vyvyan all right, and he didn't look injured, he looked plain dead. Mike kept expecting the medics to pull a sheet over his head, but they just kept working on him. He nudged one of them.

"Hey. Kid's a friend of mine, call me his mentor. What's the story?"

The medic shrugged, too focused on his patient to look up, "Can't get a straight word out of anybody. All I know, sorry to say, is it's not often I've seen injuries like these come to a positive end. Maybe _you_ can get something out of the other one. He's over there."

The medic waved into the alley and went back to work. Mike made his way to the dead-end.

"What the fuck's going on?" he asked Neil, who was sitting against the wall with his arms around a blanket-wrapped, sniffling and quiet Rick. Neil shrugged.

"I haven't the foggiest, just that Vyvyan looks really bad and Rick's a couple steps beyond total freak-out. He won't even let me let go of him. Watch."

He lifted his arms away and Rick snapped into instant panic, clutching at him and whimpering. He stopped almost immediately after Neil put his arms back down.

"See?"

Mike crouched to take a look at Rick. He winced at the extent of the damage to the kid's face. Rick's good eye stared through Mike at first, then focused on him. It wandered away again. He looked lost and terrified. Mike kept an eye on him even as he spoke to Neil.

"Has he been questioned?"

"The police said they couldn't get him to talk – they still couldn't when I was here. They said they'd try again at the hospital. He won't even talk to me."

"Rick?" Mike tried. Rick's gaze drifted back over to him.

"Mike…" he said, distant and faint. Well, he recognized him, that was a start.

"All right, spill it. What's the story?"

Rick didn't answer. He looked away again.

"Be gentle with him Mike," Neil scolded, "He's fragile."

Mike rolled his eyes. He put a hand on Rick's shoulder and tried to soften up as best he could.

"Rick, listen. You got to tell me what's going on, all right? It might be important. Now what happened to you and Vyvyan, eh? Was it Bertolini's boys?"

Rick watched him cautiously as he spoke. He tensed at the mention of Vyvyan's name, but he didn't answer. Mike started to get up when he finally spoke.

"I…I was on my way home…"

Rick told them the story in slow, halting sentences, staring into nothing. Sometimes he drifted off in the middle and they had to prompt him to keep at it. He told them about the skins, and the beatings, and his father's gun. He got louder, and faster, and by the time he got to Vyvyan's stabbing, he was very near hysterics again.

"And now he's going to die! He might be dead already, and it's all my fault!"

"Now, now, Rick, it's not as bad as all that, there's hope yet, keep it together," he gave Rick's shoulder an awkward pat. Poor kid. He honestly felt for him, but he hated this sort of thing. Grief counseling wasn't exactly an area of his expertise. He got up to search through the alley – he had more pressing concerns at the moment.

"Wow, Rick, you pulled a gun on like, actual skinheads? That's got to be the bravest thing you've ever done like, ever."

"No, Neil, he didn't, and it isn't," Mike said, fishing the gun out from behind some boxes with a pencil and sliding it into his jacket pocket, "At least, that's not what he'll be telling the police after I'm through coaching him."

He gestured for Neil to get up. Neil tried, and had to drag Rick to his feet. Rick seemed content to be dragged around. When they were standing, he clung to Neil again immediately.

"But Mike," Neil struggled to get his arms free, "It was self-defense."

"Be that as it may, I'd rather not have a bunch of pigs rooting around the house for treasure. Would you like to see your entire farm up in flames?"

Neil clung back at Rick at the thought of the pigs destroying his babies.

"Nah," Mike smiled at Rick and made sure to catch his eye, "it was the skins' gun that went off, that's what the neighbors heard. And they took it with 'em once they heard the sirens."

They heard what sounded like the ambulance doors closing.

"Come on. We'll take Vyv's car, follow 'em to the hospital."

"Neil's not allowed in Vyvyan's car," Rick said distantly. Mike smiled again.

"I think just this time, we can make an exception, yeah?"

They did. Mike drove, and let Rick sit in the passenger seat, coaching him all the way to the hospital. By the time the pigs questioned him, he didn't remember what had actually happened one way or the other, so he just repeated back the story Mike had been telling him all along. His concussion made sure he didn't remember much else after the questioning was over, either. Eventually he fell asleep on Neil's shoulder again, while they waited for news of Vyvyan.


	2. Chapter 2

_Rick wakes up in his own bed, in Vyvyan's arms. He's warm and comfortable, and although something undefined is nagging at the back of his mind, perfectly at ease. He snuggles deeper and hums in contentment._

_"Good morning."_

_Vyvyan doesn't answer. His skin feels strange under Rick's fingertips and he opens his eyes. His chest is a blotchy, blue-ish purple. He's cold and stiff. He's not breathing. Rick is cuddling with a corpse._

_"No," Rick tries to pull away and can't, trapped under the rigor mortis of Vyvyan's arm. He's forced to watch as Vyvyan turns to him, his neck snapping and popping with the force. His eyes are half-open, milky and blank behind their lids._

_"Good morning, I'm dead," he says, in his Eerie voice, "You got me killed."_

_"No! I didn't! Let me go!"_

_"What'd you have to go and kill me for, poof?"_

"NO!"

Rick shot awake. That was quite possibly the worst nightmare he'd ever had. He felt entirely disoriented – he had no idea where he was.

"Hey, Rick, chill out man, it was only a dream. You just fell asleep."

He'd been sleeping on Neil's shoulder. That didn't make any sense. The last thing he could remember clearly was walking home from the shops. He sat up, wincing at the pain in his head. He couldn't open his right eye, and trying felt somewhat akin to stomping on it and stabbing it at the same time. He looked around with the eye he could open.

They were sitting on a row of armless chairs, plastic and uncomfortable. Rick was curled into his in a tight ball. There was a blanket around him. Mike was nearby, reading and looking rather bored.

"Where are we?"

Neil looked at him funny.

"We're in the waiting room, remember? Vyvyan isn't out of surgery yet."

What was he talking about? Vyvyan in surgery?

_'You got me killed.'_

Something had happened to Vyvyan and now he was in surgery, and it was Rick's fault. He couldn't remember anything else, but he was sure of that. Neil was still looking at him funny. He couldn't figure out why.

"What?"

"You don't remember, do you? The medic said this might happen."

"Remember what?"

Neil told him. Oh. How had he forgotten all _that_? He must have been hit pretty hard. He wondered if Vyvyan was all right, and why no one had come out to tell them what was going on yet. He tried to remember the details of what Neil had just told him and he couldn't grasp anything solid. He tried to think back and all he found was a thick fog. He looked around the room. He let his mind drift. He watched people walk by. Old people. A teenager. Doctors, nurses…

Wait…what were they doing in a hospital?

"What happened?"

*****

_Pain. Everything hurts. Things that weren't even damaged carry transferred pain. His toes. His hair. He's pretty sure he can sense that aura bollocks Neil's always going on about, and he's pretty sure it hurts. There's motion outside his eyelids and he forces them open, with more effort than usual, more than ever. A nursing team works around him, post-surgical from the looks of it. So he's in hospital. He made it after all._

_The last thing he can remember is the panicked, heartbroken keening in his ear and his remorse and sorrow over his inability to do anything about it. He's swimming in a dizzy, painful fog. He feels drugged – of course he is. He tries to sit up and the nurse next to him forces him back down._

_"Oh, no you don't. You're staying right where you are."_

_"S'mebody t'see," his voice sounds foreign and hoarse. He can barely hear himself._

_"O ho, I don't think so. By rights you shouldn't even be awake right now, the injuries you've got and the meds you're on, let alone running about. Four broken ribs, stab wounds, internal injuries, multiple contusions – somebody very nearly did a damn good job beating you to death from the looks of it. You're lucky to be alive."_

_"Got to see him," he doesn't try to get up again, it took all his strength to do it the first time, "Bring him here."_

_"There'll be plenty of time for visitors later, right now it's rest for you."_

_He doesn't have the energy to scowl. He inspects the room lazily. His eyes fall on the various tubes leading from his arms, and he follows them up to their respective bags. He musters his strength. Slowly, determined, he reaches for one hand with the other._

*****

The wait was becoming unbearable. Mike dozed sitting up with his arms crossed. Neil read a magazine, still trapped under Rick, who lay on his back with his head in Neil's lap, staring at the ceiling. He was beginning to feel much more like himself, though he was still cloudy about how they'd got there. He remembered enough to be intensely worried and he was trying hard to ignore the feeling in favor of boredom. Boredom was easier.

There was a commotion at the nursing station and Rick looked over more out of habit than curiosity. A middle-aged nurse with an old-fashioned up-do and vintage spectacles was checking in at the station, and the girl at the desk pointed in their direction. The nurse approached them with purpose. She looked irritated.

"Right, which one's Rick?"

Rick sat up with a mixture of eagerness and wariness, "Me, what's the matter?"

The nurse grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him to his feet, "Come on then," she led him down the hallway, "He's not so much asking for you as demanding and I haven't got the time or patience to put in his bloody IV again. Out of surgery less than an hour, awake all of fifteen minutes and he pulls the bloody thing out not once, not twice, but third time's the bloody charm. Stubborn little shit, I've half a mind to leave it out."

Rick stumbled along behind her, a cautious and awestruck smile on his face even as his eyes welled up. Vyvyan was awake, and talking, and hassling nurses. That had to be a good sign.

"I _told_ him only family's allowed back here and _he_ says you're his brother," she stopped him with a hand on his chest and glared at him over her spectacles, the chain glinting in the fluorescent glare, "Between you and me, young man, you're his brother like I'm his Aunt Sally."

Rick blushed a deep red and she smiled at him kindly.

"That's all right, sweetie, I understand. My eldest brother Henry has a ' _housemate_ ', if you catch my meaning. They've been together half my life, he's a wonderful fellow. You must be worried sick. Looks like somebody did quite a number on the both of you, it must have been awful, you poor dears."

"Is he…going to be…"

"He's not out of the woods quite yet, but it's looking much better than when he came in, love," she patted his hand, "He looks a sight now, but don't you worry. I think he'll be fine; that boy's got the constitution of a herd of iron oxen. Come on, we'd better get you to him before he finds something to break."

She stopped him again just before the door, "Now be careful with him. He needs his rest, and he's getting it whether he likes it or not."

Rick promised and she let him in. She led him to his bed, the third along in the crowded little room, and closed the curtain around them.

"All right, here he is then, are you going to behave yourself?"

Rick held his breath at the sight of him. They'd taken out all his piercings and he looked wrong without them, too ordinary and plain. His forehead was bandaged, as was nearly all of his torso. A deep bruise ran down half his face and most of the skin Rick could see uncovered by the bandages was similarly purple. He was covered in machinery; monitors and electrodes and drips. Tubes ran out his nose, and from both arms; he could see the spot where Vyvyan had pulled one of them out – the tape and little plastic tube still stuck out of his hand. Rick was grateful for the chair next to the bed – he had to sit down to take it in. His dream came back to him, and he found himself worried that Vyvyan blamed him as much as he blamed himself.

Vyvyan cracked an eye half open and appraised them. He raised his hand, shaking, and allowed her to re-affix the IV. As soon as she released his hand, he flipped her a V with it and she threw up her hands.

"Augh! Ten minutes, you two, no more. And then you," she pointed an accusatory finger at Vyvyan, "will be resting if I have to fill you with enough sedative to kill a bloody elephant."

She stormed through the curtain and they watched her leave. Rick realized he hadn't thanked her.

"I like her. Worthy adversary," Vyvyan was barely audible. His slurred words faded in and out, and Rick thought the nurse probably wasn't kidding about the sedative, "If I ever have a proper clinic, I think I'll hire her."

Rick took his hand, carefully avoiding the newly affixed tube, "Hi."

"Hey. You okay?"

"Me? I'm fine."

"No you're not. You're terrified."

Rick swallowed. He was right. He'd never been more afraid for anyone in his entire life, even himself.

"That's all right," Vyvyan squeezed his hand, weakly, "It's over and nobody's dead, best case scenario. You look like hell."

Rick laughed, "I feel like it."

"Then why're you laughing?"

"I'm not sure," he laughed harder, wildly, verging on hysteria.

"Hey," Vyvyan shook his hand and Rick's nervous giggles stopped, "'s okay."

Rick watched him, and for a moment Vyvyan thought Rick was going to cry instead. But he held it back and held his hand tighter instead. He'd never seen so much strength, so much resolve, behind Rick's eyes. He didn't know he had it in him.

"I don't…remember a lot of what happened. I remember yelling at the skins, and then they rushed me…and you saved me, I remember that – but then…something about the gun daddy gave me?" He shook his head, "It's funny, Mike says I told him what happened, I don't even remember that. I'm not even sure how we got here. When you get better you'll have to fill me in on the details."

Vyvyan frowned, "You've got a concussion, you should rest."

"Look who's talking, I'm not the one getting threats from anachronistic nurses."

As if on cue, the nurse pulled the curtain back.

"That was never ten minutes," Vyvyan protested and the nurse shushed him. She switched out one of his IV bags, and Rick watched her with increasing anxiety.

"Can I stay? Please? I'll just sit here and I won't be in anybody's way, I just…I want to be with him."

Vyvyan scoffed, "Girl."

"Shut up, you don't want me to go either."

Vyvyan scowled in silence, but his face clearly said, "So?"

The nurse ignored their bickering and smiled at Rick, "If all goes well, we'll be moving him in an hour or so, to a room with a much more comfortable chair. You can stay with him there. He'll be out cold in a minute or two, why don't you go on back to the waiting room and I'll collect you when we're settled?"

"…can I stay until he's out?"

"All right, but you'll have to come right out."

"Thank you, er-"

"Dawn, love, the name's Dawn. I'll be outside to get you back to the waiting room."

She smiled at him again and walked away.

"She likes me," Rick gloated and Vyvyan snorted.

"Because you're a suck-up."

He already sounded more faint, whatever she gave him was working fast.

"…saved my life," Vyvyan managed, nearly out, "Never hear th'end of it."

Rick laughed softly, "You're probably right about that."

He watched Vyvyan slip into unconsciousness and hoped to hell he'd see him come out of it again. He leaned in, pulled his hand away from Vyvyan's and stroked his temple. He kissed him, gentle and kind, on a bit of his forehead that wasn't bandaged.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "It was all my fault. I wish I could take it back. You have to be all right so I can tell you properly, and you can torment me about it and call me a girl and chase me around the house. All right? You have to promise."

But of course, Vyvyan couldn't answer, and he didn't know what else to do but kiss him again and go back to the waiting room.

*****

Half an hour later, Rick and Neil sat trying to read the same magazine at the same time, and not really having a lot of success. Mike had stepped out for a smoke. Rick looked up to see Nurse Dawn headed toward him. He was so happy to see her, he didn't quite catch the look on her face.

"Hello!" he jumped up to greet her, ignoring the throb in his head. Who cared about head injuries? He was going to see Vyvyan, and earlier than she'd originally said!

She reached him and gave him a cautious, sad look. She took his hand.

"You're going to want to sit down again, love. I have some news."

She patted his hand. Rick didn't move.

"What?" his face fell.

"I'm afraid there have been some…complications. Now, he's still with us, don't you worry, they're doing everything they can, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait here. And…I'm afraid I have to tell you - you'll need to hope for the best, but prepare for the worst, love. I'm so sorry."

"What? No, there's a mistake, he was fine! I just spoke to him, he was fine!"

"These things happen, love. Injuries like his can sometimes have hidden consequences. I'm sorry to say it snuck up on us. They've got him back in surgery - it'll likely be a bit before we know anything else."

"NO!" Rick shouted, and Neil stood up beside him.

"Calm down, Rick, take it easy."

"No, he was fine! It isn't fair! It isn't fair, he was fine!" he ignored Neil's hand on his shoulder, Nurse Dawn's hand in his, nothing could comfort him. His head throbbed with every shout, he was beginning to feel faint, but he didn't care - he barely noticed. "No, he was going to be fine! You said! YOU SAID HE WAS-"

The world went black.

Neil caught Rick as he fell, and Nurse Dawn helped him lower Rick to the floor. Neil put a hand under his head, so he wouldn't have to rest it on the cold, hard linoleum. Nurse Dawn tended to him a moment, pulled a pen light out of her pocket and shone it into his good eye. She looked at Neil.

"He's only passed out, but I have to say - from the look of that pupil, _and_ the look of the injuries to his face, he should already have been admitted. I'd feel better keeping him overnight for observation."

Neil nodded, "Sure, okay."

"Poor thing. Is there anyone to be notified? Does he have any family?"

Neil took Rick's hand again, prepared to comfort him in case he was still upset when he woke up, his other hand still cradling Rick's head. He watched him with concern.

"We're his family."

*****

The phone rang only once before he picked up - that in itself was unusual, Balowski was notorious for making callers wait.

"Yeah," Balowski sounded tense.

"Hey Jerz-" Mike managed before Jerzei interrupted him.

"Ah, Christ! Mikey-boy, what the fuck are you doin' to me? Where the fuck have you been all day? I've got half the bloody outfit tryin' to track you down."

Mike frowned. It wasn't as if he checked in with Balowski every bloody day. He was certainly a useful member of the organization, but he hadn't really considered himself particularly instrumental just yet. Something was up, and from Balowski's tone, it was nothing good.

"Where are you?" Balowski demanded urgently.

"St. Sickly, been here half the bloody day, that's why I phoned - Vyv got himself into a bit of a scrape, they've got him in ICU. It's not looking too good, frankly, thought you should be apprised."

"…Fuck. Today of all fucking days. What happened?"

"Skins, apparently. Three of 'em. You know punks and skins, they can't keep their fucking fists out of each other's faces. Vyv tried to play hero and got in over his head."

"…Christ, that's another fucking wrench in the works. We need all the muscle we can fucking get today. Listen, Mikey-boy, _don't go home_. You hear me? Do _not_ , under _any circumstances_ , come within twenty fucking feet of that house. Where are the others?"

"They're here. What the fuck's going on?"

"Got a call from Bains this morning. There's a hit out on you, Mikey. All of you. And it's meant to go down today."

"…Jesus."

'Bains' was Alan Bains, the bloke Balowski had tasked with infiltrating Bertolini's operation after the last skirmish. He was good - he'd made it into Bertolini's inner circle, and he'd been feeding Balowski with extremely valuable intel for the better part of a year. If Bains said there was a hit, there was a fucking hit.

"When was he planning to clue me in on this?" Mike was beyond pissed off, "Thought he'd wait until he could report it to my fucking corpse?"

"He only just got the intel, Mikey, it's a miracle he got it at all. Called me as soon as he could, and I've been spending the past six or seven hours tryin' to get word to you. Look, Mikey, it's vital that you stay the fuck away from that house. Bertolini's honed in on the neighborhood, but he hasn't got an address. Hit-man's orders were to hang about, wait to catch you comin' or goin', nab you, storm in, off anybody they find, take anything of value and burn the place to the fuckin' ground. He's dead-set on destroying your cell, and the safe-house along with it, sees offin' you as a way to hit me where it hurts without a lot of fallout. It's a real shame about Vyv, but I'm more concerned with keepin' all of you intact. It's a fuckin' miracle you didn't make it home, we wouldn't be having this little chat."

"I was a block away. Less. …Oh Christ, I took Vyv's car here - I went in for the keys, he could have seen me then."

"Doubtful - Bains has kept me apprised. Seems the bloke got waylaid - distracted, Bains said. Apparently he's a bit of a live-wire, this hit-man, prone to makin' his own mischief on the job. Bains hasn't got details yet, he only knows Bertolini's seein' red 'cause his man left his post. Gave up on the job, said he'd have another go in a while. Something about needin' to avoid the pigs. Don't know why'd they be involved. This thing with Vyv happen near the house?"

"Just near. And yeah, the pigs made an appearance, but not to worry, they didn't come anywhere near the house itself."

Mike paused a moment and something occurred to him - something big.

"…What do we know about this guy? The hit-man?"

"Not much, he's a bit of a mystery. I know he's contract only, don't affiliate with nobody, and I know he's got a reputation as a mad bastard - madder than most. Likes to work with his hands, supposedly, won't take jobs he won't get to finish up-close-and-personal."

"Find out everything you can, I've got a hunch."

"Who are you givin' orders to, Mikey-boy? Last I checked I was still runnin' the show around here, you watch yourself."

"…Sorry, boss."

"Anyway, I'm on it, believe me. We're finding this fucker before he finds you lot, I promise you that. Bains is gathering everything he can on the bloke right now, and we're posting our own watch on the street, see if we can't catch him. He could show up again at any time. Stay put - you need a bed, there's the safe-house on Moorhead. Keep in touch, watch your arse."

"Right."

"And Mikey-boy-"

"Yeah?"

"We lose Vyv, you tell me straight away, get me?"

"…Yeah."

Mike hung up and released a heavy sigh. Good thing they'd already admitted Rick, he only had to worry about himself and Neil tonight. Well, that was bullshit, he'd be worried sick about Vyvyan one way or the other. They simply _couldn't_ lose Vyv. He was far too valuable to the operation…and he was far to good a kid to lose. And now this, now some stupid plot of Bertolini's cocking everything up and preventing him from even going home, having a cigar and a nice, long sleep. This hit-man…Mike had a sinking suspicion he had at least a decent idea of who he might be, and the implications were beyond troubling. He leaned against the wall next to the pay phone. He crossed his arms and sighed another deep sigh. Well, better go keep Neil in the loop - he'd be in Rick's room, most likely, keeping him company. He wondered if Rick had woken up yet, and if he was any better than he'd been. He wondered if Rick would _get_ better, or if he'd finally had the last of his sense knocked out of him for good.

God, everything had gone to hell. This day was fucking shite all-around. He couldn't wait for it to be over.

*****

Rick sat close at Vyvyan's bedside, having been released after two days of rest and observation. (He'd been observed anyway - he'd been far too worried to rest as effectively as was ideal.) After yesterday's release, Nurse Dawn had pulled some strings to allow Rick to stay after visitor's hours, and he hadn't left since. It was well past eleven o'clock at night, and Rick was getting sleepy, but he couldn't quite take his eyes off Vyvyan just yet. He'd fall asleep eventually, scoot the chair even closer to the bed and lay his head down next to Vyvyan's side like he had the night before. At least he was feeling better than last night. His head was much, much clearer, though his memory of the incident was vague and full of holes. The right side of his face was mending, though he still had trouble seeing through his right eye. More than one nurse had marveled at the strength of his cheekbones - apparently it was either exceptionally strong bones or sheer luck that prevented his right one from shattering - it was only just cracked, and they were confident to let it heal on its own without the need for reconstruction. His sense of smell was returning. His other injuries had been minor - a few deep bruises, the cut on his back. He was certainly sore, but all-in-all, Rick was improving. Vyvyan, on the other hand, had quite a fight ahead of him.

One of his broken ribs had punctured his lung, he'd lost his spleen, and the "complication" Nurse Dawn had alluded to had been a failed kidney - he now had only one, and it was quite bruised. Beyond that, the severity of his injuries had all but guaranteed his unconsciousness - he hadn't woken up again since the time he'd demanded Rick. Apparently, his waking up for any length of time was either a fluke or sheer determination. The blood loss alone was enough to lay him flat - the doctor had said he would likely have died on-site, had Rick not kept the stab wound pressurized for as long as he did. The doctor seemed positive he'd come-to in a matter of days - he'd said he hesitated to even call it a _coma_ (though when he'd said the word, Rick's heart had jumped into his throat), only that his body needed time to heal enough to function while conscious. But Rick was afraid to leave the room, terrified Vyvyan would wake up (or god forbid, though he didn't allow himself to actually think it, worsen and die) while he was gone.

Rick held Vyvyan's hand and stroked his arm, traced the tattoo on the inside of his wrist. He continued the one-sided conversation he'd been carrying on for nearly two days.

"I know you're probably sick of hearing my voice by now. But you'll just have to get used to it, I haven't got anything else to do. We still can't go home yet, so it's probably better that I'm here anyway. I _hate_ the safe-house on Moorhead, do you remember it? It's dirtier than _our_ house, and there's never a single person there with a friendly bone in his body. I'd rather be here. Besides, I have to be here when you wake up."

Rick yawned. He squeezed Vyvyan's hand, lay his head down and draped Vyvyan's hand over the back of his neck. It felt comforting having it there. It belonged there.

"…You're going to wake up. I've decided. You'll do it when you're good and ready, but you'll do it. You have to."

He could swear for a moment he felt Vyvyan's fingertips gently tracing the bottom of his hairline, the way he often did. Rick closed his eyes and pretended he really could, for much longer than he'd actually felt it. He smiled softly.

"Of course you'll wake up, you fascist. You wouldn't miss out on the chance to smack me around a bit for causing all this."

*****

Mike cleared his throat and Rick startled awake. It was light out - he hadn't realized it was morning. From his perspective, he'd only just closed his eyes a few minutes ago.

"Oh, hi Mike," he lifted his head and yawned.

Mike nodded, "Rick. Neil's outside, he's brought you some breakfast, wants you to come out and eat it."

Rick cast a worried glance at Vyvyan. He didn't want to go anywhere. But he hadn't eaten anything in quite a while, it was probably a good idea.

"Well…"

"Just get your arse out there, Rick," Mike said, exasperated and, Rick realized, a bit embarrassed. It suddenly occurred to him - Mike wanted a minute alone with Vyvyan.

"All right," he stood up and found his legs argued a bit after having sat for nearly an entire day. He managed to get his balance and headed out the door, looking back at Vyvyan as he left.

Mike waited for him to leave before sitting down. He found he couldn't quite look directly at Vyvyan - it was too difficult a sight to accept. Instead, he looked beyond him, out the window, watching the wind whip through the trees outside.

"Alright, Vyv," he said, trying to sound as normal as possible, "Thought I'd drop by. Had to tell you, I was just checking in with Balowski. They're on the trail of Mr. No-Neck's hired gun, but they haven't found him quite yet. He got wind we were onto him and crawled off - it's a manhunt now. But we know exactly who he is. My suspicions were correct, Vyv…it's him. There's no doubt about it, Bertolini's hit-man is the skin you tangled with - him and his cronies. Turns out Rick distracted him enough to throw him off the job," he breathed a laugh, "Turns out, if Rick was any less of an idiot, we'd all be goners. You and him both, you kept the fucker busy long enough for the pigs to make an appearance and spook him off before he had a chance to catch sight of me. He only had solid information on me, he didn't even know you two were his other targets."

He got significantly quieter, "…I was minutes away. If the three of them had made it into that house…" Mike shook his head. He really didn't want to finish that sentence.

He finally looked at Vyvyan, put a hand on his arm. He tried hard not to let his voice shake, and nearly succeeded.

"You did good, kid. Well done. Very well done," his voice cracked, and he paused for a moment and cleared his throat before continuing, "Now don't go skipping out on us - there'll be a bonus in it for you once you're well, and besides…The Business needs you."

He stood and headed out the door, trying to ignore that he sniffled a bit as he went.

****

Four days flew by in a flash, and the three developed a bit of a routine: Rick refusing to leave Vyvyan's side, Neil occasionally forcing Rick to eat something, and Mike in and out of the hospital and the safe-house on Moorhead, trying to help with the effort to shut down Bertolini's hit man as best he could without making himself a target. They continued on like this until one afternoon, Rick and Neil found themselves sitting at Vyvyan's bedside, playing cards. At least, they were _holding_ cards. They weren't paying any sort of attention to them at the moment.

"All I mean, right, is there's a possibility there are multiple gods out there right now, having it out over the planet's whole existence. All of human history could be the result of some sort of a competition for our souls. Not _only_ the Christian God and Devil either, but like, countless, infinite numbers of deities making all sorts of decisions about our destinies without our ever knowing. Or without even being able to _comprehend_ it. It's a massively heavy concept, Rick, you've got to admit that."

"Don't be ridiculous, Neil, I can't believe we're even _having_ this conversation. I _told_ you, if there were a God, he'd still be going around ordering people about and setting bushes on fire and turning people into salt and whatnot. Religion is all just a..." he struggled to remember what Brian had said at the last Collective meeting he'd attended, "...a _ploy_ to keep the... the bourgeoisie indebted to the proletariat."

"You mean the proletariat to the bourgeoisie, Rick."

"I do _not_! The common man, the bourgeoisie, is...er...look, who's the anarchist here, you or me?"

Neil didn't say anything.

"I thought so."

"You mean the proletariat to the bourgeoisie," Neil muttered, "And anyway, that's Marxism."

"It's _basically_ the _same thing_ , Neil!"

"But it isn't - Marxism is about revolution and anarchy is more about…well, what comes after, I suppose."

"Ugh, there's no use discussing subtlety with someone who wears so much patchouli."

"You don't have to get personal, man, we're only talking theology here."

"No, we're _talking_ about the way Marxism and anarchy are nearly identical!"

"Augh, god!" A voice, faint and croaky, floated over from beside them, and Rick and Neil looked over in shock.

" _Firstly_ , you mean the proletariat to the bourgeoisie, _secondly_ , they're similar philosophies with some common goals, but significantly different outcomes in practice, _thirdly_ , the concept of multiple gods using humans as pawns in some sort of cosmic chess game is so _boringly_ cliche as to be entirely meaningless, and _fourthly_ \- SHUT UP. Let a man hover at the brink of death in peace for fuck's sake!"

As this tirade progressed, Neil smiled wider and wider, and Rick's face lit up, tears brimming in his eyes.

_Vyvyan was back!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you enjoyed your healthy dose of Deus Ex Mercury in this chapter. I feel like I had to avoid over-using the word "miracle". =P 
> 
> I owe a debt to [StoriesFromTheBlueBox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Storiesfromthebluebox/pseuds/Storiesfromthebluebox)'s rather excellent [What Doesn't Kill You...](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1704794) for my nurse's name. I was stuck on it forever, and then Vyv's nurse in that story was named Saunders and...yeah. It was too good to resist a little reference. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

Rick helped Vyvyan out of bed, and helped him get dressed - today was the day he, and indeed all of them, would be going home. Vyvyan was on the mend, though he was going to have mobility trouble for a while, what with the damage to his ribs. His other injuries were improving, to the point he could finally recuperate at home - nearly three full weeks after the incident. Rick was worried about how good of a patient Vyvyan would be at home - he was already insisting he was fine and trying to move about far more than was actually possible.

Vyvyan pushed Rick aside as he attempted to lean down to put on his own jeans.

"No, no, I've got it," he started to bend over then snapped back up involuntarily out of pain. He tried again, and failed again. Rick moved to help him again, and Vyvyan shoved him away again.

"No," he said, looking at Rick with stark seriousness, "I'll do it."

Rick watched in concerned frustration as Vyvyan slowly, excruciatingly, reached down to the waist of his jeans and pulled them, just as slowly and excruciatingly, up and into place. He grimaced and breathed hard the whole way, and the entire process had to take over five minutes in total. He stood fully again and looked defiantly at Rick.

"See? I'm fine."

He tipped backwards, and luckily only sat back onto the hospital bed again rather than falling over entirely, bracing himself on his arms and wincing at the effort. Rick sat next to him and watched him, a half-amused, half-annoyed expression on his face.

"You're going to be completely impossible to care for once I get you home, aren't you?"

"Well, there's a solution to that."

"Don't care for you?" Rick snorted, "That's not happening, Vyvyan." He stood, to collect the shirt Rory had brought - Vyvyan's other shirt had been ruined and thrown out, and only Rory could have dared make it into the house without an escort. Rory was now on the team tasked with hunting Max down - he'd promised Vyvyan a chess game he'd never followed through on, unable to find the time. Rick hoped he'd survive the mission - the last thing Vyvyan needed was a murdered best friend. He fidgeted with the shirt a minute before heading back over to Vyvyan.

"I'm glad we're finally _going_ home, getting back to normal. I'm beyond sick of sleeping sitting up. Only…"

He handed the shirt to Vyvyan, already deciding to offer help only when asked. Vyvyan held it a moment before getting up the strength to try to put it on.

"…Only?"

Rick sighed and sat next to Vyvyan again, "I wish everything _was_ back to normal. Getting escorted home by an armed guard and then locked inside indefinitely doesn't really feel like normalcy."

"We've holed up at home before, we'll be fine."

"Yes, but last time they weren't after _us_ , _specifically_. I can't believe they haven't found him yet."

Vyvyan struggled his shirt on, "He's a slippery bastard…keeps himself well-hid…difficult to find him even…if he _wants_ to be found."

"Apparently so. Moz, it's all such a mess. I can't believe we stopped him at all. He would have killed _all_ of us."

"I know," he knew all too well. Rick had been saying some variation on that theme for days now, he seemed stuck on it - haunted by it. Vyvyan took his hand and squeezed, a wordless reassurance.

"At least we know who he is," Rick reassured himself, "Though fat lot of good that does us, only knowing his handle. What sort of a a psychopath goes by 'Mad Max' anyway?"

"You know, that's what _I_ always wondered. You'd think for a bastard as vicious as him, he'd come up with something that evokes a bit more menace than Mel Gibson."

"… _Always_ wondered?" Rick looked puzzled for a moment, then understanding dawned, "Vyvyan…do you _know_ him?"

Vyvyan paused - he hadn't even realized he'd been talking about it as if Rick already knew until Rick pointed it out. He hadn't meant to keep it a secret, exactly, he'd just been looking for the right time to bring it up, and hadn't found one. This was as good a time as any, he supposed.

"Knew him. Ran with him for a while, when I was a kid, about fourteen. I saw things around him I don't ever want to see again. Still have nightmares sometimes. He's a fucking madman."

Rick sat quietly for a long time, taking in the information.

"So what…what _sort_ of skin were you?" he said at last.

Vyvyan shrugged, "…I don't even know, really. I suppose I was the sort that wanted to belong to something. I was a kid. Besides, back then skins had only just started migrating over to the National Front arena, though it was bastards like Max that pushed it. I was never behind him on it. I never saw the point in singling out people to hate, the human race is pretty bloody despicable all-around."

Rick had never really thought about it that way before, but he saw his point. He was glad Vyvyan wasn't an _actual_ Fascist - or a racist. It would cause such a scandal at the Collective if he had a bigoted boyfriend. And of course, he didn't want to date one. (Though this second thought was rather secondary.)

"…What sort of things are so terrible they give _you_ nightmares?"

"You don't want to know."

"…I might."

He looked away, and seriously considered not telling him. He didn't particularly want to relive it - and he was incredibly ashamed of the truth.

"I've never told anybody about it. I'd rather not tell you, but I suppose I've got to tell _somebody_ \- I've been carrying it around for ages." But he didn't continue, for a long, long time. Eventually he stood, slowly, and made his way over to the window, staring out at the people wandering about below. Rick turned to watch him.

"Back when I was running with Max…he tortured somebody to death. For no reason at all, he just didn't like the look of him, said he didn't belong here, that he'd make an example. It took hours. I was there, with two others. I saw it all. And he made us…I'm not proud of this, but…I helped him do it. I stood by and watched a madman torture a man to death while he begged for my help and I did nothing. Well, not _nothing_ , actually - I shot him full of stimulants so he'd stay awake longer, so Max could _enjoy_ it longer. I helped the wrong person. God, I'll never forget the look on his face when he…" he shook his head, closed his eyes, "It wasn't any bloody fun, it was only torture on the rest of us as well. Max got off on it – like, _really_ got off on it, it was fucking disgusting. Me and the other two, we had to bury the body when it was over. I quit soon after, and then it didn't matter because I got into my own trouble and I didn't see him again."

Rick took all of this in. Well, that _was_ something he probably _didn't_ want to know, though he likely needed to. The part that confused him, however, was Vyvyan's apparent shame surrounding it.

"But you see and do violent things all the time, you love violence, how was that any different?"

"It's different. A beating's a beating, somebody needs a smack, it happens, it's over, everybody walks away. And a murder's a murder, somebody deserves to die, it's over in a flash and then all you've got is a body. Torture's different. You haven't really seen cruelty until you've seen somebody slowly dragged to the very edge of their humanity and well over. You can't imagine what it's like to watch somebody really _suffer_. There really aren't any words - it's like…like watching their soul die well before their body - and watching it take yours with it."

He crossed back over to the bed and sat again, but opposite Rick, still facing the window. He found, suddenly, he didn't quite want to look at him. "You're right, I love violence, I believe in it. But Max believes in suffering, and I can never get behind that. He doesn't indulge in violence for its own sake, he doesn't want to smash anything but somebody's spirit. And he never targets anybody who deserves it. If anything, he chooses the ones who can take it the least. He only likes to make people hurt; he's not happy unless somebody's crying. There's enough suffering in the world, it doesn't need him."

"Vyvyan, that's downright bleeding-heart of you."

He scoffed. "That's what he always called me. The bleeding heart. Because I didn't want to watch him work out his Nationalism issues on the guts of the innocent." He swallowed back disgust and a lump in his throat, "I can't talk about this anymore."

Rick was quiet and Vyvyan turned back to face him. Rick was watching him with fascination. He smiled the tiniest bit. Vyvyan scowled.

"What?"

"You don't have the slightest idea what an amazing person you are, do you?"

Vyvyan scowled harder than before.

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Don't say things like that. You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know what sort of person I really am."

Rick was incredulous, "Of _course_ I do! I probably know you better than any person on the planet!"

Vyvyan looked away again. He half considered telling Rick to leave him alone.

"That doesn't mean anything. Nobody knows me, not really. If you knew what sort of person I really was, you wouldn't want anything to do with me."

"That's not true," Rick climbed over to where he sat, wrapped a gentle arm around his shoulders and took his hand, "I can't imagine what you'd have to do to make me not want anything to do with you anymore. As far as I'm concerned, I'm going to want to be around you as much as possible for the rest of…the foreseeable future."

Vyvyan knew if he answered, he'd be snarky. So he bit his tongue and wrapped his arms around him instead, as much as his ribcage would allow. He agreed anyway. And that was as heartwarming as it was terrifying.

"Come on, poof," he said instead, "Let's go home."

*****

_Vyvyan knows something's wrong as he approaches the house. Even before he notices the door is ajar, he can feel the wrongness of the atmosphere, the dark cloud hanging over everything. But he approaches anyway, runs to get through the door, try and stop whatever's happening inside._

_The moment he steps inside, he knows he should never have left, not even for a moment. Inside is chaos._

_Every piece of furniture they own is upturned, torn apart, ruined. Even the wardrobe in the front hallway is tipped over and smashed to bits. The cellar door is open, and he can smell the beginnings of fire wafting from it. But the house is so quiet. So very quiet. Where is he? Where's the bastard who did this? Why can't he find him?_

_He comes upon Neil's body first, lying in the hallway in a pool of blood. He must have opened the door without looking through the peephole, poor silly, stupid bastard. He stares at Neil's mangled corpse for a few moments before the scream from upstairs engages his brain again, and then he's rushing toward it as fast as he can get there._

_Rick is lying at the top of the stairs in the empty hallway, halfway out of his bedroom door. Vyvyan drops to his knees, cradles his shaking head, grabs his trembling hand. Rick is dying fast, gasping for breath, his unseeing eyes wide with terror, his guts strewn beside him, spilled out onto the carpet in an unraveled coil. Vyvyan strokes his forehead, squeezes his hand, mutters a string of meaningless reassurances and apologies._

_"I'm here, I'm here, I'm sorry, I know, I'm so sorry, I've got you, don't be frightened, listen to my voice, it's all right, I'm right here-"_

_'TELL HIM,' his mind screams, 'WHY CAN'T YOU TELL HIM? SAY IT, DAMN IT! SAY IT!' He can't. He tries, but his voice is suddenly frozen in his throat. He can barely breathe._

_Rick looks directly into his eyes. "You. Why?" he demands, and the voice coming from his throat is not his own, "Why?" He breathes a final breath, his face frozen in horror. Vyvyan clutches his head to his chest and tries desperately to cling to his sanity._

_"Should have been me," he mutters, barely aware of his own voice, "Should have been me, should have been me."_

_"With pleasure," he knows Max is behind him even before he hears his voice. But he's frozen to the spot, helpless as Max's knife finds its way back into his side, reopening the wound, the pain screaming through him, such pain, such incredible pain-_

Vyvyan shot awake, gasping for breath. His stab wound throbbed, and his confused, half-asleep brain tried to process his surroundings. Rick stirred beside him and he gasped again, still horrified from the experience, so incredibly relieved to be awake, adrenaline pumping through his body. It had been so detailed - so _real_. He grabbed hold of Rick, not caring what time it was, not caring that it made his entire torso complain, not caring about anything but feeling him warm and safe and alive in his arms.

"Mmmph? Vyv, it's the middle of the night," Rick whined sleepily.

"I know, I'm sorry, go back to sleep." He couldn't let go. He squeezed tighter and tighter, ignoring the pain in his ribs. Rick whined again.

"I _can't_ , not with you _squeezing_ me like that."

"I'm sorry," Vyvyan was hushed, his breath still shaky and fast, "I'm sorry."

"What's the matter with you?"

Vyvyan said nothing. He sniffled a couple of times.

"…Did you have a nightmare?" Rick's voice went from irritated and whingey to gentle and kind.

Vyvyan nodded, still unable to make himself let go.

"Yeah."

Rick hummed in understanding. He tried his best to hold Vyvyan back without hurting him. He traced Vyvyan's back with his fingertips.

"…Talking about them takes the fright out of them," he said gently, echoing his mother's long-held wisdom. Vyvyan shook his head.

"Not this one. Doesn't matter," he sounded a bit calmer, "Don't worry about it."

They lay in relative silence for a bit, Vyvyan's breath slowing, squeezing a bit less tightly. Rick sighed.

"It was about Max."

It wasn't a question. Still, Vyvyan nodded.

"They're going to find him," Rick said, and he wasn't really sure which of them he was reassuring, "It's as good as over, all that's left to do is finish him off. He won't be back, we're already rid of him."

Vyvyan didn't answer. He was very, very quiet and for a few moments, Rick thought he'd gone back to sleep. Then he spoke again, and his voice was low and shaking - and ashamed.

"…I knew him."

"What?"

"The bloke I helped Max torture…I knew him. His name was Manesh, everybody called him Manny. He was the neighborhood chemist. Everybody liked him, he was a good man. I used to shoplift from him - he'd always look the other way, used to joke about it. He _liked_ me, I was his _friend_. When I found out who Max's target was…" Vyvyan's voice went tight and strained, "I'm not some bloody wonderful person, Rick. I'm awful. I'm the worst sort of coward - I knew Max would never stand for dissent, so I went along. I could have _helped_ him, I could have _warned_ him, but I didn't want to go against Max. I let an innocent man suffer and die because I wanted to save myself. I'm a traitor and a coward. _That's_ the sort of person I am."

He pulled away from Rick and turned over. After a few moments, Rick could see his shoulders shaking - he was either crying, or trying very hard not to. He sat up, refusing to look at Rick, and started to get up.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you that," he said, "I'll go sleep in my own room."

Rick grabbed his arm.

"Don't you dare."

Vyvyan couldn't reply, but he didn't get up. He didn't lie back down, either.

"You're wrong," Rick said quietly, earnestly, "You're the sort of person who's _sorry_ about it. You were coerced, Vyv, and you were practically a child. You said it yourself, you only wanted to belong to something. Who knows what any of us would have done in your place? Besides, if there's one thing you're _not_ , it's a coward. I think you've proved _that_ rather thoroughly."

He sat up, kissed the back of Vyvyan's neck and Vyvyan balked, though he'd swallowed his tears.

"How could you still want to _touch me_ after I told you all that?"

In that instant, Rick made a decision. He took a deep breath. He held Vyvyan as close as he could without hurting him.

"Don't you understand how much I love you, you silly bastard?"

Vyvyan turned and looked at him, a strange expression on his face. For a few moments, it almost looked like he was going to say something. It almost looked like he was going to say _it_. But then he only furrowed his brow and lay down again.

"Your loss, you girl."

Rick ignored what he said and focused on what he did. He knew it was the better predictor of Vyvyan's true thoughts anyway. What he _did_ was bury his head in Rick's chest and pull him close - and calm down. He reached up and stroked Rick's cheek. Rick could practically _feel_ the gratitude in every brush of Vyvyan's fingertips. _"Thank you for listening to me,"_ the gesture said, _"Thank you for staying with me. Thank you for loving me."_ And behind that, just a hint of, _"I'm sorry."_

Rick could feel himself drifting off, and Vyvyan was going rapidly slack in his arms - he was falling asleep as well.

"Should be out there," Vyvyan muttered, more asleep than awake, "Fight my own fight."

"You should be sleeping," Rick said kindly, "It'll be all right. We're going to wake up tomorrow and they'll have caught him in the night."

He fell asleep entirely unsure that he was even remotely right. The night was restless for both of them, each sleeping with one eye open, and one ear toward the front door.

*****

Three days later, the two sat on the sofa, sleep-deprived and paranoid, staring blankly through the telly. Mike was sitting at the kitchen table, per usual, and Neil was doing some half-hearted washing up and occasionally glancing nervously at the front window. There was a knock at the door, and immediately everyone tensed. They all looked anxiously at each other, then at the door, back and forth. Mike lowered his paper and held his breath. Neil made his way to the door cautiously, checked the peephole just as cautiously.

"It's Rory," he called to the rest of the house, and the four of them heaved a collective sigh of relief. Neil opened the door and Rory sauntered in, carrying a bottle of brandy. Neil took a cautious look up and down the street before closing the door behind him.

"We got him," Rory said, beaming ear to ear. He had a black eye and a split lip, and he limped his way into the sitting room to deliver the news. His grin faded somewhat as he took a look around.

"Jesus, you lot look like complete shite. Have you slept at _all_ since you got home?"

"Not really," Rick said distantly.

Rory nodded, and appeared to try and swallow some of his enthusiasm. He handed the bottle to Mike, "That's from Jerzei, he should be phonin' anytime."

The ring couldn't have been better timed if he'd planned it. Mike jumped up to get it, and Rory took the opportunity to take the brandy back, gather a few glasses from the cupboard, and saunter/limp over to the sofa, where he took a seat next to Rick and Vyvyan. He poured himself a glass and put his feet up on the coffee table - there was a significant gash in his shin.

"Took all bloody night, seven blokes, and eventually a shit-ton of bullets, but we got the fucker."

He took a swig, made an impressed face at the glass, and filled it more thoroughly. Vyvyan grabbed the bottle from him and poured himself some as well.

"It's about bloody time, isn't it?"

"You're tellin' me, mate. Took for-bleedin'-ever to find him, and once we did, the bastard wouldn't stay down! We made him pay for it though - made an example of him. Next bloke No-Neck tries to hire to off any of Balowski's boys is gonna' think twice. They'll be talkin' about this one for years. Vyv, you'll like this bit - Rostov actually beat the fucker with his fuckin' leg! That thing's stronger than it looks. Took it right the fuck off, smashed him right in the fuckin' face. You know, for a big bloke, he's got an incredible sense of balance."

"…That sounds like just what I'd expect from that mad bastard," Vyvyan said thoughtfully, sipping at his brandy.

Rick leaned forward over his knees, and put his head in his hands.

"It's…over? It's really over?"

Vyvyan looked at him, startled by his tone - he sounded completely overwhelmed. He was shaking, and Vyvyan could tell what was coming even before the first sniffle. He got to his feet as quickly as he could - which wasn't particularly quickly, and took Rick's hands to pull him to his feet.

"Come on, poof, you're exhausted. Let's get you upstairs."

"…All right…" he said in a quiet, wavering voice. Vyvyan scolded himself over his surprise - he should have known it was coming. The way Rick had been putting on a brave face the past few weeks, it was almost inevitable he'd fall apart the moment the crisis had passed. It was somewhat of a miracle he hadn't just burst into tears the moment Rory had walked through the door and announced it.

Neil and Rory watched on as Vyvyan led Rick over to the stairs. Mike was still engrossed in his phone call. Vyvyan turned just before heading up.

"You still owe me a chess game, arseface," he said to Rory, "Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back. And don't go hogging all that booze, either, Mike hasn't even had any yet."

Rory flipped him a V, and Neil followed to the foot of the stairs as they climbed.

"Need any help, Vyv?" he called, already worried.

"Don't bother," Vyv called back, "Go tend to your bloody plants or something."

Neil looked up the stairs for a while longer, still a bit concerned. Then he shook his head.

"Forget the plants," he said at last, "I'm going to Meadowlark's."

He walked out the door, and Rory shrugged and poured himself another glass. When Mike finally got off the phone, there was only just enough left for him.

*****

Vyvyan bolted awake at the first sound. Rick lay beside him, still asleep, but screaming all the same - that terrible, muffled whine that only comes from the half-paralyzed voice box of a dreamer having a very bad time of it. Vyvyan shook Rick awake, already prepared for the hysterics that would surely follow.

"No, no!" Rick woke up shouting and Vyvyan pulled him close, soothing him with a gentle hand.

"It's all right, it's all right, it was only a dream, I'm here, it's all right."

"You were dead!" Rick wailed, half-asleep, all terrified, "They killed you, I couldn't stop them!"

"I know, I know, look at me," he took Rick's face in his hands and looked into his tired, frightened eyes, "I'm right here, all right? I've got you, I'm fine, you're fine, I won't let anything happen to us."

Rick crumpled into tears of exhaustion and Vyvyan held him again.

"They won't stop!" Rick cried, "Why won't they stop?"

"They will," Vyvyan kissed his forehead, "I promise they will." He hoped he was right.

"Make it stop," Rick muttered, already slipping back into sleep.

"I wish I could, poof." He squeezed tightly as Rick drifted off, whimpering and sniffling. Vyvyan lay awake for a long time, stroking Rick's hair protectively and staring into the ceiling.

The nightmares had begun only a couple days after Max had been captured and killed for good. It had been a few weeks now, but they were getting worse instead of better. This was the fifth night in a row - and before that, he'd only had a couple nights' respite, and only because he hadn't _remembered_ any of his dreams at all. Hell, this was the second _tonight_ \- he often had a series of them, and woke up in the morning exhausted and sullen. Vyvyan thought they'd probably stop eventually, but he hoped they'd stop sooner rather than later. As a child, after his mother left, his own nightmares had lasted about a year before tapering off. The ones after his previous encounter with Max had only lasted a couple of months, but they still reared their ugly head every once in a while. Trauma nightmares were always more intense at first; they would get milder as time went on.

He was glad, in a way, that the experience had only affected one of them this strongly. He couldn't imagine how much harder it would have been with neither of them getting any sleep, always looking over their shoulder, jumping at the slightest noise. Still, if it was going to be one of them, he'd rather it had been himself. He was more practiced in such things, he had better coping skills, he would have been able to handle it - to hide it - better. And it killed him to see Rick like this. It killed him to know there was little to nothing he could do about it; he would just have to wait it out and hope it got better, hope Rick would manage to come back to himself in time.

He knew he likely wasn't helping. Vyvyan had been coddling him, trying to keep him comforted and safe and content. Rick really didn't have any incentive to try and snap out of it himself. But Vyvyan couldn't help it; he was in too deep. Every fiber of his being wanted to do everything he could to make everything all right; _needed_ , like always, to scoop Rick into his arms and protect him from the world. He was glad (quite an understatement) that he'd been able to rescue Rick, and that he'd managed to survive, himself. But somehow, he still felt so guilty. He felt as though he should have fought harder, done more, done _something_ to prevent Rick from having experienced any of it. He felt like he'd failed at the one thing most important to him.

He thought there had to be something, some way to assuage his own guilt; some way to show his devotion to protecting the person he loved most in the world.

*****

Rick was reading on his bed when Vyvyan backed into the room, dragging what appeared to be his bed-frame with him. Rick jumped to his feet.

"What are you doing?"

"Expanding the lab," Vyvyan said, shoving Rick aside and arranging the bed alongside Rick's, "Getting too crowded in there. Besides, I want to get a proper exam table."

He disappeared into his room and came back with an armload of his things, dropping them haphazardly onto the floor. He disappeared again, and came back with SPG's cage. Rick approached him with a knowing smirk.

"You're moving in with me. Officially."

"Nothing of the sort! I'm just reorganizing some things."

When he disappeared and reappeared this time, he was dragging his bookcase, still full of books, across the floor. Rick watched in quiet amusement as Vyvyan appraised the room and started rearranging furniture to fit the new pieces. He stopped, crossed his arms, and inspected the twin bed-frames.

"Gonna' need a bigger mattress," he muttered.

"You _are_ moving in with me!"

"Shut up! I am _not_ , I _told_ you, I need more room for the lab!"

"All right, fine, you just _happen_ to be moving a bunch of _your_ things into _my_ room because you want more room in yours."

"Now you're getting it," he disappeared yet again, re-appeared with his skeleton, looked around, found absolutely no place for it, shrugged and took it back. He came back empty-handed, "I wouldn't move it into Neil's, would I?"

He put an arm around Rick and appraised the room - _their_ room, "Besides, now you've no excuse - you'll have to stop knocking me out of bed now that we've both got room."

"Well, how am I supposed to entertain myself now, I wonder?" Rick said, teasingly.

Vyvyan wrapped his other arm around him and pulled him close. He smirked at him, "I can think of a few ways - now that we've both got room."

Though it took a while for the nightmares to taper off completely over the following weeks, that night, Rick got the best night's sleep he'd had in well over a month, cushioned by their new mattress, comforted in the knowledge that he would now, officially, be safe and protected in Vyvyan's arms every single night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I had a bunch of rambling here about how I felt "meh" about this chapter, and now I feel weird and compliment-fishy (which was not at all my intention) having it here considering the response I'm getting. So it's gone now. Anyway.)
> 
> The last fic in the series is upcoming - I don't even want to give a timeline, afraid of over-shooting. But know that I'm far less hesitant about posting it than I was about this last chapter, so that should be encouraging. Be back soon! ^_^


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